


Living with the Man You Love Among the Dead You Hate

by violetnyte



Category: Starfighter (Comic), Starfighter Eclipse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Happy Halloween!, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-08-13 23:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte/pseuds/violetnyte
Summary: White picket fence, two-car garage, happy marriage -- Jules lives the perfect suburban life ... until all hell breaks loose and the dead start to eat the living! (aka that damn zombie AU I wouldn't stop screaming about finally gets written)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!! I wanted to have a lot more of this written before posting, but I also wanted to hit the deadline for Halloween. I hope this little teaser/introduction scratches that spooky itch. Enjoy!

Jules stood at the window with a piping hot mug of fresh-brewed coffee in hand. He breathed in the aroma of ethically-sourced organic beans and felt the exhilarating thrill of idyllic bliss typical for the morning of a day off work. He’d slept in late, besides waking up long enough to kiss Aidan goodbye, and only woken up in time to watch Afon from around the corner jog past in bright red shorts and rippling muscles. 

Right on schedule, at ten-oh-six on the dot, the fast-moving eye candy of golden-tan skin, red polyester, and black buzz cut appeared. Jules lifted the mug of coffee and took a long, savoring sip to ease his thirst. Sometimes on weekdays off from the salon, Jules liked to check the mail at the same time Afon went past. The rhythmic flex and pump of his thighs deserved a closer inspection, after all. 

Carefully Jules tugged at the curtains for a better view of the street. Was it his imagination, or did that enticingly familiar gait seem more of a run than a jog? That was quite unusual. 

Also unusual was Mrs. Johnston from three houses down stumbling like a drunk as she rounded the corner in Afon’s wake. And with her, was that Gillian, the tarted up slut who flirted with Aidan at last year’s summer barbecue? Jules had no idea the two of them were Wednesday morning alcoholics. And desperate enough to actually  _ chase  _ poor Afon. How tragic.

Fortunately neither woman seemed coordinated enough to catch a man who dutifully jogged the neighborhood every day at the same time. Just how many bloody marys or mimosas or whatever other homemaker special had the two imbibed? Gillian seemed to be wearing just her house slippers and a velour tracksuit in some God-awful abuse of the color pink, and poor drunk Mrs. Johnston had a head full of hair curlers. Gillian’s makeup resembled a crime scene on her face. Truly awful and embarrassing.

Faintly Jules heard Afon shout something as he raced past the postal carrier, a portly middle-aged woman whose name Jules couldn’t remember. She stuffed a bundle of sales flyers into the mailbox of the house catty-corner and then turned to look at the two disheveled drunks lumbering toward her. Perhaps the police would be summoned to deal with the blatant display of public intoxication. Jules could only hope, at least, as the kerfuffle would prove infinitely more interesting than the daytime television programming he had slated for the rest of his leisurely morning.

As he watched, the postal carrier approached Mrs. Johnston and her husband-stealing friend. Jules couldn’t wait to watch Gillian handcuffed and loaded into the back of a police cruiser. Mrs. Johnston he bore no particular ill-will toward, other than her tacky animatronic Christmas decorations plaguing the neighborhood each year, but all for the better to keep her from repeating embarrassing behavior and accosting Jules’ favorite neighbor. Afon might choose to jog a different route in the mornings, and that would be a true tragedy.

Jules leaned forward eagerly as Mrs. Johnston took a swing at the postal carrier. Wasn’t assaulting a postal worker a federal crime? Jules regretted leaving his phone on the kitchen counter, as this was precisely the sort of thing he’d love to text a play-by-play to Aidan. Gillian showed the same lack of restraint and joined the brawl. She clutched both hands into the postal carrier’s arm and then -- to his absolute horror --  _ bit the woman’s neck _ . Blood spurted from the jagged wound to streak crimson over the Jersey chic pink tracksuit Gillian wore.

Only the heated splash of coffee against his socks made Jules aware the mug had slipped from his hands. All three women toppled to the ground, with the drunk assailants on top of the postal worker. Jules watched as Mrs. Johnston lifted handfuls of red viscera to shove in her face like gorging on a smorgasbord of Lean Cuisines. 

Jules covered his mouth. “Oh, my fuck!” 

Jules indulged in a gleeful excess of panic as the idyllic suburban landscape became a full-fledged nightmare in a matter of moments. From nearby -- possibly next door -- came a lifted wail of screaming. Sirens cut the crisp autumn air along with the distinct breaking crunch of metal and glass as a pick-up truck collided with the light pole on the corner. The driver tumbled halfway out but was prevented from a full escape by the cannibalistic child in the passenger seat clinging to his leg with teeth and hands. 

Ignoring the spilt coffee soaking his socks and puddling into the beautiful beige carpet, Jules turned and bolted for the kitchen. He skidded across the tile on wet socks and had to windmill his arms for balance. Hastily Jules checked into the garage to make sure Aidan remembered to close the automatic door on his way to work that morning.  He secured the kitchen door, and then he snagged his phone before likewise checking the front door and their elegant floor-to-ceiling glass atrium doors. Jules felt a suddenly sense of I-told-you-so for his insistence they install a 6 foot wooden privacy fence around the backyard upon purchasing the home. Mostly so he could sunbathe in peace without leering neighbors, but now it seemed a good deterrent against being eaten by his neighbors. 

Jules hurried back to the front window and drew the curtains mostly closed. He left a small sliver open to check on the unfolding carnage outside, largely unchanged but still horrifying to behold.

With shaking hands, Jules dialed 911. The jarring annoyance of a busy signal greeted him. Jules hung up, redialed, and repeated the effort for the next several minutes. He bit back a scream of frustration. “For fuck’s sake, pick up!” 

What was the point of paying taxes if he couldn’t even report the outbreak of rabid cannibalism among his neighbors? Surely 911 hadn’t blacklisted his number or something after the fifth time he called in a noise complaint for the wanna-be drummer renting the attic apartment in old deaf Mrs. Gershwin’s place. 

Rather than hurl his phone on the floor like he wanted, Jules tapped into his contacts and started composing a mass text.  _ SOS! Emergency! I need your help ASAP 911 is busy wtf??? Neighbors are trying to kill me _

He stared at the text he’d just sent to the group chat comprising of Aidan, Aleks, and Marcus. Without waiting for a response he sent an immediate follow up. 

_ This is no exaggeration my neighbors have literally killed the post lady and are eating her right now _

Jules frowned at his phone screen. It still didn’t seem plausible. Maybe he should send them a photo to emphasize just how much this wasn’t a joke. Aidan made an effort to check his phone during breaks and recess, but most days he was kept too busy with grimy little kindergartners to return texts. Marcus usually read the messages and only rarely responded. That just left Aleks, who was constantly near his phone and never missed a message but wouldn’t always reply to Jules directly and certainly wouldn’t believe such an outlandish claim.

It was to Jules’ considerable surprise, then, that a reply from Aleks appeared rather quickly. 

_ Mine too. Lock the doors and stay inside _

As if Jules had any intention of playing the hero and interfering. He started to reply, but more appeared on the screen from Aleks before he could. Words that were perfectly ghoulish and awful yet somehow gleeful, and Jules could see his husband’s best friend smiling his creepy quiet little smile as he sent the foreboding declaration. 

_ You know what this is, don’t you? It’s the zombie apocalypse  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I wanted to update other WIPs instead, but this was the one I finished first so it's the one you get <3

Jules gripped the handle of the stainless steel frying pan tighter and leaned from around the kitchen wall slightly. “Aleks?” he called. “Aleks, is that you?”

Irregular, shuffling thuds fell against the front door in response. Definitely not the sound of Aleks knocking. Definitely some kind of disgusting living dead _zombie_ noise. Jules suppressed a terrified whimper.

Even though he hadn’t felt the little vibrating buzz of a missed call or new message, Jules tore his eyes from the door long enough to check his phone. Nothing further from Aleks after a laconic   _On my way_ sent forty-seven minutes ago. And nothing at all from Aidan, even though Jules had sent over a dozen rapid fire panicked pleas for him to reply.

Jules tucked the phone back into his pocket. No reason to be worried, other than the distinct possibility of Aidan getting swarmed at work by nasty little zombie kindergartners. But Aidan was resourceful, smart, and surprisingly strong despite his soft exterior. He’d be okay. Jules had to believe that.

From outside came a loud and terrifying noise. Something wet, crunchy, and drawing nearer with rhythmic precision. A steady stream of small thumps against the side of the house changed tempo briefly into a pitched pitter-patter like maladjusted garden sprinklers. Abruptly Jules realized the mechanical scream belonged to a chainsaw, and he was hearing flecks of blood and viscera splattering over the window. The whir of the chainsaw sloped into quiet. Jules stared at the closed, bolted, and end-table blockaded front door.

After a long pause the doorbell chimed cheerily into the silence. Jules lowered the frying pan and eased his white-knuckle grip. Elation soared through him as he hurried forward and shoved the end-table out of the way.  

“Aleks! Come in, quick…”

Never in his life had he been so relieved to see his husband’s small, quiet, weird best friend than in that moment. Not even the bloody chainsaw blade dribbling crimson ruin all over the plush cream carpet of entry could dull his happiness.

Aleks stepped into the house with the chainsaw in his hands and a bulging hiking backpack strapped to his back. In lieu of a bedroll, a lumped together bundle of tools wrapped in a blanket lay strapped to the top. Jules saw a baseball bat, crowbar, a fire axe, and a few other not-easily identifiable yet assuredly deadly items. Carefully Aleks unclipped the chest-strap to his backpack and shrugged it to the floor.

Jules shoved the flimsy end-table barricade back into place. “I’m so glad you’re here, oh my God. What’s happening out there, is the entire neighborhood like this?”

Aleks nodded. He pulled at the strap holding the weapons bundle in place. “Heard from Aidan?” he asked.

“No.” Jules set a brief hand over his cell phone but resisted the urge to waste the battery further by checking its silence. ”I - I’m sure he’s fine, though… Have you heard from Marcus?”

Aleks flicked the quiet, unsettling intensity of his pale-eyed gaze up at Jules and then shook his head. He looked down the backpack as he flipped back the compression cover and tugged open the main compartment’s ties.

“Oh.” Jules worried his lower lip between his teeth. “Well, he’d be at the store this time of day, right? I can’t imagine a better defense for this mess than -- is that Malyshka?” Jules interrupted himself with the incredulous outburst as Aleks reached into the backpack and lifted up a tortoiseshell lump of furry complacency.

The cat’s whiskers trembled with a lazy yawn as Aleks draped her over his shoulder. “Couldn’t leave her,” Aleks said, sounding defensive. He smoothed a hand along the long-haired fluff of her lazily swishing tail. With his foot he nudged at the assortment of lethal hardware. “Pick one.”

Jules set his frying pan aside and knelt. His nose wrinkled distastefully at the splotches and streaks of blood coating a few of the tools. Careful not to touch any of the wet-gleaming stains, Jules worked an aluminium baseball bat free of the bundle. It seemed the cleanest of the options. As Jules made his selection, Aleks disappeared into the kitchen holding his cat. Getting her some water, to judge by the quiet clatter of cabinets and rush of the sink that followed.

In the kitchen, he found Aleks supervising Malyshka as she washed her mottled cream-and-black fur with lazy, contented strokes. A bowl of water sat next to her being ignored. The faucet continued to pour a stream of water into one half of the sink. Jules found that odd. Did Aleks intend to bathe the cat as well?

Aleks looked Jules up and down critically. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Excuse me?” Jules pressed a light hand against his chest. He looked down at his outfit and then across at Aleks, who wore a tightly zipped studded leather jacket with a red bandanna peeking out the collar. Despite the mild early-autumn weather, black leather mechanic’s gloves clad his hands. Dark-wash jeans and combat boots completed the pathetic punk look best left forgotten in misplaced edgy youth.

A soft sigh huffed from Aleks. “Cashmere sweater? Khakis?” He shook his head disapprovingly.

“Just because the living dead are taking over the world doesn’t mean I have to dress like a savage,” Jules sniffed.

Aleks shook his head again and then leaned over to turn off the sink. “Get gloves and a jacket. Pack essentials -- medicine, food…”

“We’re not staying here?” Jules asked. “I’ve locked the doors and even went outside to bolt the back gate, so I think --”

Aleks cut him off with a sharp look. “We have to find Marcus and Aidan.”

Jules opened his mouth to protest and then clapped it shut. His stomach churned easily at the idea of going outside among the unfolding deadly horrors, but more assuredly terrifying was the idea that Aidan might be trapped somewhere, unarmed and surrounded, maybe injured, possibly unable to run. He gave Aleks a curt nod.

It didn’t take Jules long to gather up the requested supplies. As he shoved the contents of the medicine cabinet into Aidan’s gym bag, Aleks slipped into the bathroom and began filling the bathtub. “What are you doing” Jules asked. “You better not be thinking of scrubbing that chainsaw or something in here.”

“Saving clean water,” Aleks said. “In case we come back here.”

As if it was a possibility they might not. Jules looked at the remaining space in the nylon bag and then hastily took out one the wire bristle brushes. He didn’t really need them both. That left more room for some spare socks and underwear -- for both himself and Aidan. Jules snagged their framed wedding photo off the dresser and stared down at it for a long moment before shoving it firmly into the bottom of the bag. Aidan was fine. Jules had to believe that.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Aleks made quick work of sorting through the pantry and tossing acceptable selections at Jules to pack. Organic granola, spinach fettuccine, the dried fruit slices Aidan’s dehydrator-owning coworker loved to send him home with -- “That’s all I can fit,” Jules said. “Is there room in your bag?”

Aleks shook his head and shoved the rolled-oat energy bar in his hand into his pocket for safekeeping rather than toss it to Jules. He scooped Malyshka off the floor and lowered her into the main compartment of his backpack. Wisely Jules held off criticizing the tactical choice in wasting that much pack space, not when Aleks was toting a chainsaw and a small armory. Jules had spotted no less than three sheathed knives looped around Aleks’ belt.

Jules filled two water bottles and clipped them to outside of the gym bag. He secured the strap over his chest and adjusted the fit of his woolen pea coat. Leather gloves in a luxurious scarlet suede provided a secure grip around the foam tape wrapped handle of the baseball bat. Jules had managed one season of going along with Aidan’s misguided effort at a couples’ summer activity before quitting, but he did remember the general basics. And surely zombie heads would be easier to hit than a tiny white ball hurtling much too fast at his face.

“Should we take my car?” Jules asked. “How are the roads?”

“Blocked,” said Aleks. “Faster on foot.”

Jules swallowed. “Sure. Okay. Ready?”

Aleks nodded and lifted the chainsaw in both hands. Jules nodded back and shoved the end-table out of the way. He unlatched the front door and took a deep, steadying breath. Nothing to be afraid of, really, except the zombie-populated hellscape of suburbia awaiting him.

“Okay, then. Let’s find our husbands.”

From Aleks came the answering rip of the chainsaw starting up and then kicking into an idling purr. Jules yanked open the front door and used it as a partial shield to ensure Aleks didn’t accidentally lob off one of his limbs or spray blood on him as he went past. Jules pulled the door shut and took the time to lock it back while Aleks surveyed the eerily quiet street.

The eviscerated pile of undead neighbors stacked along the front steps helped explain the quiet, at least, and Jules glanced at them only long enough to confirm the absence of chiseled abs, lean thighs, and red jogging shorts. Jules spared a brief prayer of relief that his favorite eye candy hadn’t become literal man-meat before hurrying to follow Aleks.


	3. Chapter 3

Aleks’ chainsaw made quick work of the isolated few zombies they came across for the first couple blocks. Jules kept a safe distance from the spray rather than get involved, not when Aleks seemed to have the matter aptly in hand. Besides a few vehicles crashed into each other or plowed up on to the curb, the streets seemed clear enough, so it seemed ridiculous they were walking rather than driving. Near the subdivision exit, however, Jules saw what Aleks meant by saying the roads were blocked.

The twisted heap of a three-car wreck provided backdrop for easily a dozen or more shambling re-animated corpses. The flanking homes at the entrance to their neighborhood sat open and empty, front doors wide and the occupants likely among those milling around the wreck. Aleks and Jules surveyed the scene from further up the street in the relative calm of an empty intersection.

The hard grey glint of Aleks’ gaze swept the street. He hefted the chainsaw a bit more securely in his hands, leather-gloved grip tightening.

“We need a plan,” Jules said quickly, before Aleks could go charging into trouble. “They’ll swarm you otherwise. There’s too many of them, and it’s an open area. I’m not about to stand here and watch you get turned into zombie lunch. Aidan will never let me hear the end of it if I do.”

The corners of Aleks’ mouth turned down. The expression seemed to be one of both acknowledgment and exasperation. “Got any ideas?”

Jules rested the baseball bat against his shoulder and swallowed nerves. Of all the idiotic decisions in his life, this ranked somewhere above olive oil as lube and below his hideous junior high perm. “Yes. I’ll distract them. Lure them around to between those two houses--” he pulled the bat off his shoulder to point. “You’ll have the advantage there to take them on just one side, rather than all sides.”

The sleek, dark gloss of Aleks’ head nodded in slow approval. He glanced to Jules and then tipped his face low and to the side, enough to draw the half-curtain of his bangs forward. Aleks’ voice tended toward a creepy, quiet, raspy little whisper under the best of circumstances. Jules barely heard him say, “Be careful.”

Before Jules could respond, Aleks hurried across the street to take up position in the narrow column of space between two nearly identical subdivision homes. That left Jules to face down the mindless shuffling horde of undead. He took in one deep breath to calm his nerves and then another. After adjusting Aidan’s gym bag on his shoulder, Jules started forward.

“Hey! Hey, you! Ugly boots!” Jules shouted. He kept advancing on the shambling corpse of a young woman in sheepskin fashion abominations. “Last morning of your life, and that’s how you chose to get dressed?”

Not only the style victim but several of the zombies turned slowly to take Jules’ approach. There seemed to be quite a few more of them, seen up close like this. Jules froze. The undead kept shuffling closer. Terror rooted him in place until at last Jules found the strength to start slowly back away.

“That’s it, follow me. This way now.” Jules adjusted his retreat to avoid a rapidly hobbling old woman in a ghastly green muumuu coming up on his flank. He glanced over his shoulder to where Aleks lay in wait and then picked up the pace of his backwards hustle.

A few of the reanimated corpses seemed highly motivated to catch him and emerged to the front of the trailing pack. Jules was forced to turn his back on the zombies to fast-walk forward and then finally an awkward half-jog/near-run. 

“Aleks, incoming!” he shouted.

As he rounded into view of where Aleks stood waiting, the flaw in their plan became clear. Rather than being stuck between a figurative rock and a hard place, Jules found himself stuck between a literal rapidly-whirling deadly chainsaw blade and a horde of highly motivated flesh-eating zombies.

Without breaking stride Jules whipped the gym bag off his shoulder and tossed it to the side as gently as he could. He gripped the bat in the center with one gloved hand. Aidan had looked ridiculous, demonstrating over and over again how to slide through the dirt. As if he had any intention of taking baseball practice seriously, but Jules had many reasons to be grateful that Aidan was so irrevocably optimistic regarding Jules' athletic inclinations. Leading leg out straight, left leg bent under, left forearm into the grass to get leaned low, bat up like a shield in front of his face just in case. Aidan would’ve been proud to see all those demonstrations put to use like this.

Cool, wet dew slicked the grass enough to help ease Jules’ inelegant but effective slide past the chainsaw part of trap. That left Aleks in the clear for gleeful zombie destruction, and as Jules scrambled to his feet he heard the wet, grinding spray as spinning blade met the undead opposition. As they’d planned, the narrow corridor efficiently funneled the zombies toward Aleks for a neat and tidy end.

Well. Not exactly neat -- red soaked into the grass, crimson splattered into the aluminium siding on either side. Aleks retreated at a slow, controlled pace to ensure the zombies kept coming forward into the trap.

Now clear of the danger, Jules darted sideways to snag the gym bag before the line of destruction advanced to it. He felt briefly at the rectangular lump in the bottom to assuage his guilt at having thrown it to begin with. No broken glass he could feel, no shattered keepsake he’d need to explain to Aidan later. Jules stepped back further from the bloodied chaos. The move brought a flicker of motion into view, just barely at the edge of his vision. Jules turned his head part-way and then fully.

Shambling up on them in all his beer-gut, tighty-whitey, hairy chest glory was the probable owner for one of the flanking homes. A ragged puncture of torn skin along the man’s shoulder provided the backstory his current walking dead status.

Jules stifled a scream. He tightened his grip along the foam-tape handle of the aluminium baseball bat. Aleks had his hands full, quite literally, with rendering a formidable onslaught into manageable zombie-chunks. Jules could manage one disgusting, overweight, hideous, slow-moving re-animated victim of the undead apocalypse. He stepped away from Aleks and toward the isolated zombie opponent.

Aidan demonstrating various methods of swatting a fast-flying little white ball with a fat metal stick had been less ridiculous than sliding through the dirt. He’d looked focused, strong, totally in his element. Even after refusing to sign up for a second summer of organized fun, Jules more-or-less agreeably sat on the sidelines to watch and cheerlead. Monitoring the health of his marriage was one reason, watching Aidan excel at something so silly yet powerful was another.

Like sliding, Jules remembered the basics well enough. Feet planted, elbows bent, shoulders square, eye on the ball -- or, in this case, slack-jawed moaning zombie head. Jules swung for the fences. The bat whistled through the air with satisfying hiss and then made contact, square and center of the target. Vibrating shock reverberated through his fingers and palms. A dull, sickening crunch accompanied the bright red spray of skim and bone separating. Hot mist peppered Jules in the face. The zombie lurched to a halt and then crumpled.

“Ewww,” Jules whined. He flicked at his cheeks and brow to clear the skin of blood. Behind him, the roar of Aleks’ chainsaw faded down into a low purr.

Jules turned to take in the fresh carnage. He found Aleks likewise turned to check on him. The pale cut of Aleks’ gaze went to the sunken cranial cavity of the half-naked newly re-dead corpse at Jules’ feet. His expression adjusted slightly in silent, begrudging approval.

From the chainsaw came a sputtering, choking desperation and then silence. The line of Aleks’ mouth turned into a frown. He braced the chainsaw between his thighs and then yanked the pull cord. Jules felt his stomach sink.

“Out of gas?” Jules guessed.

Aleks nodded. He inclined his head toward the street. Carefully Jules picked a path over and around the pile of massacred undead. They both put a cautious look up and down the quiet street to check for strays or wander-bys, but the trap seemed to have worked. The path lay clear out of the subdivision.

As they approached the tangled wreck of vehicles all but blocking the entrance, Aleks motioned for a halt. The chainsaw went on the ground alongside one of the abandoned cars. Jules watched as Aleks unclipped the backpack’s chest straps and then lowered the pack to the ground. From one of the small outside pouches Aleks pulled out a coiled length of plastic tubing. Within minutes he had one length of the tubing fed into the car’s gas tank and the other end piping gasoline down into the small reservoir on the chainsaw.

“Smart,” said Jules. Quite unnecessary, as far as commentary went, but he simply felt too relieved they wouldn’t have to abandon the heavy-duty zombie destroying weapon just yet.

Aleks nodded without looking up from the task at hand. He tugged the plastic tubing free of the car and let the last dribbles feed down the tube into the chainsaw. After returning the tubing into its storage compartment, Aleks shouldered the backpack once more so they could leave.

Rather then turn left out of the subdivision and follow the road, Aleks led them across the empty flat of pavement and into the drainage ditch on the other side. He continued without pause up the short embankment and into the undeveloped scrabble of thin trees and bushy thicket. Jules put it together without asking that this served as both a shortcut and an avoidance of zombie complications.

Jules fought the hem of his woolen coat free of a bramble and swatted low-lying tree branches out of his face. Despite their efforts at moving quietly, fallen leaves and branches littering the ground provided a steady crunch of noise. He would almost rather face hordes of the undead rather than be subjected to this much quality time with nature.

As the sun rose high into the sky, they made progress staying clear of major roadways and skirting along the back fencing of neighborhoods. The few cars they did spot seemed to be in an understandable hurry and, by silent agreement, Aleks and Jules ducked out of sight and stayed there until the vehicles passed. Nice as having allies among the living would be, Jules would rather they keep focused on the task at hand. Outsiders might slow them down, might get spooked and turn on them, or might just annoyingly whine too much about the end of civilized society. For all he found Aleks vaguely unsettling as a social companion normally, he was proving an excellent ally in these strange new circumstances of zombie-filled doom. 

When they reached the outskirts of the Country Club golf course and paused for a brief rest, Jules realized they were heading the wrong direction. At least, the wrong direction for finding Aidan. Jules glanced sideways at Aleks while he took a long drink of water from the plastic sports bottle. By the time he lowered it, Aleks was watching him back.

“So,” Jules ventured. He tossed out the accusation-slash-question with all the respect due to a man carrying a chainsaw coated in slain zombie viscera. “We’re headed to Marcus first?”

Aleks’ shoulders made a quick flex beneath the weight of the backpack. “He’s closer.”

Jules frowned. He nearly opened his mouth to argue Aidan’s school was closer, assuming they cut north rather than cross the golf course, but then he remembered the highway bisecting their peaceful section of suburban sprawl. Driving to the school necessitated either an awkward on-ramp/off-ramp loop or a long detour to cut across on the nearest overpass. Aidan complained about it all the time. They'd nearly bought a hideous house with a cramped galley-style kitchen to avoid it until cooler heads prevailed. 

“Fine,” said Jules. “I’m sure Aidan’s fine anyway.”

Aleks gazed at him with an unnervingly flat and level silence.

“And I’m sure Marcus is fine, too. Probably doesn’t even need us showing up. They’re both fine -- why wouldn’t they be? Not like the entire world’s gone to hell. Ugh, let’s just go.” Jules clipped the water bottle back in place and then started walking at a pace that just barely fell short of running. Only once a stitch stabbed into his side did Jules slow into something more manageable that let Aleks catch up with him.

The gently rolling lawn of the golf course lay abandoned and empty. Equally abandoned and empty was a tipped-over golf cart, and after a bit of struggling Jules and Aleks managed to push it upright.

“Yes! Now lets see if it starts.” Jules hopped into the driver’s seat. Whoever had abandoned the cart hadn’t bothered to take the keys, and to his delight the motor turned over on the first try. Jules set the baseball bat beside him on the seat and looped the strap of the gym bag around his ankle. Behind him, Aleks perched into the rear-facing back seats with the chainsaw across his lap. The bulky hiking pack he managed to secure to the golf bag holder, and Jules waited patiently for that to be accomplished before puttering the cart forward at its modest top speed.

Steadily Jules maneuvered them down the course toward hole one and the exit. As they neared the club house, he spotted a small crowd of well-dressed retirees clustered around the doors. They shuffled and milled with the tell-tale mindlessness of the undead, so Jules reduced speed and made a slight off-road detour over a flower bed to give the zombies a wide berth. The golf cart bounced and shuddered over the decorative pavers to reach the safer terrain of the parking lot beyond.

Past the front fountains, just shy of the curving front drive, a lone zombie stood wavering and waiting. One of the golf pros, to judge by the visor, polo, and khakis. Jules eyed the distance between them, the width of the drive itself, and the high curb to either side. He reached sideways to snatch up the bat.

“I got this,” Jules called back to Aleks. He pressed down on the gas pedal, and the golf cart motor whined in response. “Hold on --!”

The zombie took notice of their approach and lurched forward. Jules gripped the bat tight in his left hand. At almost the last minute, Jules spun the wheel to the right as aggressively as he dared and swung, hard as he could. The bat bounced off the zombie with a resounding metallic ping, but in the force of the collision he nearly lost his grip on both the steering wheel and the bat.

Jules hastily straightened the cart to keep from careening into the curb and eased off the gas some. He turned to look back at the crumpled corpse and felt a jolt of satisfaction. Considering he was only armed with a stupid aluminium bat, Jules wasn’t too awful at justifiable homicide. They couldn’t all be gleeful chainsaw-wielding maniacs of the apocalypse, after all. 


End file.
